Hope on the Rocks by Annabeth Albert

Two

Adam

As I predicted, babysitting Quinn took up the remainder of my evening. He’d become flirtier the more he drank, and I’d kept him talking in large part to keep him off his phone. No drunk texting or ill-fated swiping right on my watch.

“You sure you don’t want to eat something?” I prodded as I put the last of the clean glassware away. “Kitchen’s closed, but there’s always stuff left, especially after a slow night. I could get Horatio to heat you up something.”

“I’m not hungry. This is tasty though.” He held up his almost empty glass. I’d figured two cocktails to get him tipsy, but at least four to get wasted. However, this was drink three, plus whatever sips he’d had of the rum and Coke, and he was way, way more toasted than I’d anticipated. The low tolerance level was another sign that he rarely did things like this and one more reason for me to go all protective over him.

“Thanks. And enjoy that last drink because no more for you.” I said it all teasingly, but I wasn’t kidding about cutting him off.

“But I like it.” He pouted sexily, complete with full lower lip and puppy dog eyes, but I wasn’t swayed. Much. My body liked every damn thing about him, but my mind knew better than to go there.

“First, we’re closing soon, and second, you passed buzzed quite some time ago.”

“I know. It’s wonderful.” His smile was way wobblier than the ones I’d seen him give when sober, but his dimples still made me need to smile back.

“Glad you’re happy.”

“I’m not.” He sighed dramatically, dimples beating a fast retreat as his face crumpled. “But I can pretend for a little while.”

“Yeah. That’s probably all most people can do.” I swallowed hard.

He might be drunk, but there was a truth to his words. I knew plenty of happy people, especially lately, as all my friends had coupled up and left me the last single guy standing. I wasn’t miserable. But true happiness? That tended to be fleeting at best, and I knew more about pretending than I cared to discuss.

“To being a damn good faker.” He polished off the rest of his drink in a single swallow, then set it down with an unsteady clatter.

“At least drink some water if you’re not going to eat something.” Not waiting for his agreement, I put a large glass in front of him. “Your body will thank you later.”

“You’re nice.” He was sweetly earnest. Later, that sweetness might turn teary, but right then, it made him as bad at flirting as he was at drinking.

“I try,” I said, although sometimes I got damn tired of always being the good guy. A less noble man would lead Quinn’s sweetness down the inevitable path to one of those bad choices he seemed so determined to make.

“You always seemed so intimidating. Big and brooding.” His dreamy tone made me sound like the cover of some book, and I suppressed a laugh. “But you’re not so scary up close.”

I’d heard that a time or twenty. I was tall and broad, and my beard added something to my look, but I was far more teddy bear than badass. “Nice gets more tips than scary.”

“Ha. You’re not fake-nice simply to get better tips. Trust me. I’d know.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” I said mildly.

Even when he wasn’t three sheets to the wind, Quinn was the sort of person who always saw the best in others. He wouldn’t know he was being used until it was too late. The same innate goodness that surely made him a great doctor also made him vulnerable and made me rage-y toward anyone who would take advantage.

“And hot as you are, you’d get tips, regardless.” He continued to look at me like I was a steak sandwich and he’d only now realized he hadn’t eaten in a month.

“I’m hot?” I raised an eyebrow. “Exactly how drunk are you?”

“Oops.” He turned the prettiest shade of pink. “Didn’t mean to say that aloud.”

“It’s okay. I won’t hold it against you.” I smiled but dialed back my earlier flirting. This was the part where I had to be the good guy, point out that he was in no condition to make a pass at me, even if it would be too damn easy to encourage Quinn.

“I should probably go.” He fumbled around for his wallet and presented his card with clumsy fingers. Yeah, he’d passed toasted, and no way was he up to walking back to wherever his house or apartment was.

“It’s raining. Hang tight, and I’ll give you a lift. That will probably be faster than trying to find a ride on one of the apps.” Rainbow Cove had a couple of drivers for the various taxi apps, but even during tourist season, coverage could be spotty at best. Besides, I was probably the safer option. Not everyone would share my desire to take care of Quinn. Plenty of users in this world. I’d rest easier knowing he was safely back where he belonged.

To that end, I hurried through my closing tasks so I could hustle Quinn out the door. My Chevy was parked behind the tavern. As I steered Quinn toward it, I eyed the beat-to-hell pickup and remembered that the cab was stuffed with tools and spare clothes. I probably needed to upgrade my wheels, but I’d sunk what little I’d had into the tavern with Mason and Logan. The place was on better footing these days, but I also had a stubborn attachment to my aging ride.

“Are you taking me home?” Quinn didn’t seem to care about dents or messes as he stared up at me. He touched my arm when I tried to move so he could get in the truck. I’d tried hard all night to avoid touching him, even something as simple as brushing his hand when handing him a glass. Somehow, I’d known, yet the electricity still took me by surprise, that zap that made every damn cell in my body take notice.

“To your place, yes.” That I managed to speak at all was a feat, especially with his hand still on my forearm. His grip was warm and strong, and I wanted to let his long, elegant fingers roam wherever they wanted.

“Good.” He gave me a look that would have been way more seductive two drinks ago. “You can come up with me. For…something.”

His tipsy giggle was the push I needed to break free from his touch. I gently steered him into the passenger seat and buckled him up before heading to the driver’s side. Taking care of him felt as satisfying as the earlier flirting had, a different sort of warmth, but potent nonetheless.

“I’m taking you to your house. Where you will sleep this off.” We needed to get clear on that in a hurry. “Now, what’s the address?”

“Maybe I’m not ready for bed.” Reaching across the console, he danced fingers up my arm.

“Yeah, you are.” I removed his hand and returned it to his lap before putting the truck in gear. The sooner we headed to his place, the better. There was only so much temptation a guy could take.

“Look at you all stern and sexy.”

I liked the compliment far more than I should have, liked the awe in his voice enough to keep the stern tone going. “How about you behave and tell me where we’re going?”

“But being naughty feels so much better.” He wiggled in the seat, making me glad I’d seen to his seatbelt myself. “Perhaps I need to be bad more often.”

Lord, have mercy. My application for sainthood damn well better be approved, and quickly. I headed the truck in the general direction of all the newer housing, figuring I could turn back around if needed once he gave me an actual address. Rainbow Cove was a little town. Eventually, we’d pass near his place, but it sure would help if he’d tell me where.

“Be a good boy.” The boy part slipped out. I’d recently discovered that a certain variety of younger guy tended to respond to the word, but I didn’t know Quinn’s kinks, and we weren’t in my bedroom. I was about to apologize when he made this happy little noise that went straight to my groin.

“That’s just it. I don’t want to be good with you. Maybe you should spank me. You’d be good at that, I bet.” He gave me another of those appraising looks, one I’d dearly like to receive under more sober circumstances.

The good doctor bringing up spanking was beyond intriguing, as was the way he reacted to me calling him boy. I wanted to know way more about what else he might like. But I also needed to be able to face my mirror in the morning.

“Look, Quinn. It’s late. If you want to revisit the subject of getting kinky when you’re sober, I would be more than down with talking.” He wouldn’t remember me saying that. And if he did, he’d be too embarrassed to ever bring it up. I knew all the words to this particular song. “But I’m not going to mess with you while you’re drunk. No way. So, let’s get you home.”

“You’re mean.” Pouting, he slumped back against the seat.

“When it keeps you safe, yup, I am.” My voice came out far snappier than I’d intended.

I concentrated on driving for a few moments and then took a deep breath before apologizing. “Sorry—”

Thump. I glanced up to see Quinn’s head fall against the window. His body had gone limp, and an honest-to-God snore wheezed from his parted lips.

“Quinn,” I said loudly.

No response. Now what? Was I supposed to keep driving around until he woke up?

“Fuck it. You’re sleeping at my place.” I headed north toward the lake and the small collection of homes surrounding it, including the one I was working on for my mom, who owned a number of lake-view rentals. At least there I could guarantee he’d be safe, and he’d have someone nearby when he inevitably got sick.

“I am?” Quinn sounded drowsy but intrigued.

“Sleep. Alone.” I kept my voice all stern since that apparently worked with him. “In the morning, I’ll make you my famous hangover cure, and you’ll thank me.”

I hoped, at least. And maybe sober we could revisit the topic of what sorts of kinky things he might be into. Damn how I wanted that, wanted him, although I wasn’t holding my breath.

“I’d thank you more if you fucked me,” Quinn announced right as I pulled into my driveway. He raised his hand, reaching for me, but I forced myself to ignore both the invitation and the way his touch made me shiver.

“You’re hell on my good intentions, Doc.” I parked, turned off the truck, and exited in a hurry. I needed to get him inside and myself in a cold shower. I rounded the truck and opened the passenger door.

“I don’t want to be Dr. Strauss right now. He’s boring. I want…” He tried to reach for me again and then stumbled as he climbed out of the truck.

It was just as well. I might be what he wanted right now, but he’d be back to being Dr. Strauss soon enough, and I’d still be the bar man with the rattly truck.

“Whoa. Easy there.” I steadied him before he could face-plant and then led him into the small house.

I’d only been working on this one a couple of weeks, so it was pretty sparse in terms of furniture and comforts. In the entryway, there was a case of bottled water I’d bought for a camping trip, so I fetched him a bottle before steering him toward the bedroom. “Start drinking this now. I’m gonna let you take the bed because it’s closer to the bathroom, and I’ve got a feeling you’re going to need that.”

“We could share.” His smile was a little sad. Yep. The teary stage was not far off. But comforting him would not end well for either of us.

“No, we couldn’t.”

“Such a mean Daddy.” He plopped down on the bed.

“Nah, I’m a nice one.”

Not that I would tell Quinn, but being nice could be a problem. The same young guys, who liked letting me call them boy and who had hookup app profiles advertising how much they wanted a Daddy in the bedroom, tended to ghost when they discovered that I was younger and more cuddly than they’d hoped.

“I want one.” His sigh held so much longing that my breath caught. Maybe Quinn would be different than those boys. “You’d be such a good Daddy.”

He was right, but his opinion would matter a hell of a lot more sober. Tamping down my own want, I knelt in front of him. “Let’s get your shoes off.”

“Oh.” He made another of those pleased noises that went straight to my suddenly very awake cock as I unlaced his very sensible doctor-approved sneakers. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“You’re killing me.” Groaning, I rested my head against the bed next to him. He idly petted my hair, running his fingers along my scalp. His touch felt so damn good that I couldn’t move away.

“I don’t want to kill you. I want to kiss you. So much. And…”

Holding my breath, I waited for him to torture me even more with a wish list I wasn’t going to do a damn thing with. But instead, his hand stilled and he fell back against the bed, already snoring again.

“Good night, Quinn.” I hauled myself up off the floor, plucked his askew glasses off his face, and pulled the covers up over him. Maybe in the morning he’d finish that thought. And maybe he’d tell me what had driven him to drink. The sadness in his eyes was as compelling as any hidden kinks he had, and something in me wanted to know way more than was smart about both.